


Virtually Yours

by twofoursixohone



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Jokes, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Humor, MC is Gary's Sister, Online Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, You've Got Mail! Vibes, not brother like my 3am brain wrote originally smh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29833854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoursixohone/pseuds/twofoursixohone
Summary: Daisy Rennell hates Bobby McKenzie. Bobby McKenzie hates Daisy Rennell. It’s simple – or at least, it should be. Because offline, they might be each other’s biggest rival, but online, they’re falling in love.They just don’t know it yet.
Relationships: Bobby McKenzie/Main Character (Love Island)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Virtually Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo... it's been a hot minute since I've written anything, and honestly it's because I've really been struggling to find any muse or motivation to write. BUT, I had the idea for this, and even though I had my heart set on writing a Jake fic next, I couldn't not write some Bobby enemies-to-lovers, so have... whatever this is!
> 
> I haven't properly proofread this, I have no idea how long this story is gonna be, I have no idea when I'm going to update, but I'm super excited about this so I hope you enjoy this chapter and this story as much as I did writing it ❤️

There are two irrefutable facts in this world.

Fact one, that everybody is going to die. Not all at the same time or anything – unless disaster just so happened to strike and the human race got the same treatment as the dinosaurs – but at some point in their lives, every person will cease to exist, just a body and fond memories left behind as a reminder that they were once breathing, eating, sleeping, living.

(Unless vampires somehow actually exist. In which case, disregard fact one and proceed onwards.)

And fact two, that Daisy Rennell hated Bobby McKenzie.

Okay, so maybe hate was a strong word for what she felt for Bobby. It wasn’t like he’d done anything particularly egregious to her that would warrant outright hatred, after all. He’d not hurt her physically since they were kids, hadn’t broken her heart, and hadn’t kicked a puppy (that she knew about, anyway). Perhaps a better word to use would be _disliked_ , but that felt too wish-washy for her liking. If she could be bothered to pick up a thesaurus, or even just do a cursory Google search, maybe she’d be able to find something that was more accurate, more in-between and less angry or pathetic.

But, then again, Daisy didn’t want to spend more time acknowledging Bobby than was absolutely necessary, so hated would just have to do.

* * *

**_Daisy:_ ** _The fox is in the henhouse. I repeat. The fox is in the henhouse._

 **_Henrik:_ ** _Am I supposed to pretend to know what that means?_

Daisy suppressed a sigh, spearing a small roast potato with her fork and shoving it into her mouth whole. Her grandmother, or Nan, as she called her, gave her a look of disapproval over the table, but Daisy waved it off. By now, Nan should have figured out that she wasn’t one for exemplary table manners, especially not when in the presence of the enemy.

She glanced back under the table at her phone, which was resting on her lap, obscured by the lace tablecloth. If her brother, Gary, hadn’t been doing the same thing, he’d probably have called her out on it. _No electronics out at the table,_ Nan instructed every single time they gathered for roast dinner, her formidable glare fixed upon her grandkids’ iPhones. _That means those Apple phones too. It’s impolite._

Even though she’d been forced by Daisy and Gary to get an iPhone for herself, for safety reasons in case she fell when neither of them were around to help, she still couldn’t quite seem to grasp modern technology in all its forms, which was why she insisted upon calling them Apple phones, even after being corrected numerous times by multiple people. Her stubbornness was one of her most endearing – and irritating – qualities, and it had undeniably been passed straight down to Daisy.

 **_Chelsea:_ ** _oooooooooh are we playing charades???? i love that game!!!!!!!_

Followed by a million different emojis, because it was Chelsea, and she couldn’t send a single text without at least one love heart or smiley face.

 **_Daisy:_ ** _We’ve been over this. It means Bobby’s shown up for Nan’s roast dinner._

 **_Henrik:_ ** _And you couldn’t have just typed that out?_

 **_Daisy:_ ** _I thought we agreed on using codewords!_

 **_Henrik:_ ** _Dais, I love you, but no._

“Your lap must be really interesting, lass.”

_Busted._

The sound of his voice caused her head to snap up so fast she was surprised she didn’t get whiplash from the sheer speed of it. Bobby McKenzie sat opposite her, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, and she fought the urge to leap across the table and pour gravy over his head.

“Very interesting, thank you,” she replied, sickly sweet. His smirk only grew at that; it was clear he knew he’d caught her out, and her saying anything more would out her to Nan, which often meant a lecture on the rudeness of texting at the dinner table _._ So, instead of shoving his face straight into the dish that contained all the steaming vegetables he’d decided not to put on his plate, she just narrowed her eyes and focused back on her roast dinner. Better not to antagonise the fox, lest she wanted to get bitten.

Bobby, in many ways, _was_ like a fox, and not one of the charming Disney-esque anthropomorphic dream boats she’d had an inexplicable crush on as a child. No, he was a sly, trickster character, one who found the gaps in her armour and used them to royally piss her off. She wasn’t about to give him any credit for intelligent, because his special skill was annoyance rather than intellect, but something about him just irritated her to her very core. Daisy was the hen of the story, the wide-eyed victim of a smug bastard. At least, in her version of the story she was the victim. She couldn’t imagine what sort of a picture Bobby might paint of her.

“Ms Rennell, I have to say that your roast is, as usual, incredible. Best roast dinner I’ve ever had.”

His thick Scottish accent floated over the table to her ears and made her stomach twist. Could he be any smarmier? More to the point, could it be any more obvious that he was trying to piss her off?

“Oh, Bobby darling, you know you can call me Nan,” she grinned, her eyes lighting up at his praise, “But thank you dear, I’m glad you think so.”

And there it was. Neil Armstrong could have seen the smug look in his eye all the way from the moon, and it made Daisy want to hurl. Nan loved her grandkids, that much was clear, but she’d always had a soft spot for Bobby too, perhaps more for him than for either of her blood relatives. Her third grandchild, she called him, which was as sickening for Daisy as it was sweet for everyone else. He didn’t deserve to be part of their family. He didn’t deserve to be sat there, eating Nan’s roast and cracking jokes with Gary like it was _normal._ Nothing about it was normal. Nothing about it was right.

“May I be excused to go to the bathroom?” she blurted out, interrupting the gush-fest that was going on opposite her. Nan nodded, and up Daisy shot, feeling Bobby’s eyes burn into her back as she made her way into the hall and up the stairs.

Nan’s bathroom was small, carpeted, and still had the remnants of steam on the mirror from the quick shower Gary had taken when he’d come in from work. Daisy and Gary had been trying to get her to turn one of the downstairs rooms into a second bathroom, for when Nan started to struggle and couldn’t make it up the stairs anymore, but ever the optimist, she’d cheerfully stated that she’d just have to get a stair lift instead. Even at nearly eighty years old, she was a sprightly woman, one who rejected the idea that ageing was a death sentence and insisted upon doing all the things she’d done when her grandchildren were young: she still tended to her flourishing garden every day, she still ran about after her Yorkshire Terrier, Florence, and she still made a mean roast dinner. And, god did Daisy love her. She was the reason Daisy had stayed close to Chatham her whole life, and she hadn’t regretted it for a minute. Well, maybe once or twice, but just looking at the smile on Nan’s face whenever she opened the front door and saw Daisy standing there chased away any doubts she might have had.

Which was why it stung so much that Nan was so fond of Bobby. She just couldn’t understand how anyone could like him at all, let alone as much as she did.

Her rivalry with Bobby had started at a young age, when he had pushed her over in the sandpit and then claimed it as her own, forcing her to go running straight to her teacher to tattle, school uniform covered in sand and a cut on her knee. From that moment on, it had been the two of them against each other, competing to be better than the other at anything they tried. At their respective ages of 22 and 24, they were just about even score-wise, but their rivalry still burned brightly, and every opportunity there was to one-up each other, they took it. Bobby being Gary’s best friend since nappies had complicated things somewhat, but the blond crane operator tended to stay out of it, reasoning that his love for the both of them made it impossible to pick a side.

Somehow, that was even more aggravating than if he’d just picked Bobby.

Their hatred, or dislike, or something in-between, for each other had only been intensified by the fact that both of them had taken up a keen interest in baking ever since they were kids. While Bobby had soared, leaving his Hospital Catering job to open up his own bakery with his friend, Hope, and buying his own place with the money he’d earned, Daisy was left working a minimum wage job at Greggs and sharing a flat with her best friend Chelsea and Bubbles, the world’s most drooly pug. And, as much as she loved Chelsea (and Bubbles), she couldn’t help but feel incredibly bitter that once more, Bobby had managed to do better than she was, and in an area that she really cared about too. It made her feel sick every time she thought about it, every time she walked past _Me, Myself, & Pie_ sitting there on the high street, nestled in between an antique shop and a hairdressers. Bobby knew that she hated it too, and his smugness made things infinity times worse, so she was trying her best not to show any signs of weakness around him. She couldn’t let him win that battle too.

Once she’d taken care of her business, Daisy whipped out her phone to reply to her text from Henrik, who’d sent another one in her absence.

 **_Henrik:_ ** _Don’t tell me you’ve been eaten by the fox and that’s why you haven’t answered._

She let out a snort. Henrik was one of her closest friends, aside from Chelsea of course. He’d been an international student at her university, and from day one they’d clicked and had been pretty much inseparable ever since. Even though he was back in his home country of Sweden, texting him still helped her feel close to him in a way, and he’d always been there to calm her down when her frustration at her horrifically mediocre life had gotten the better of her.

 **_Daisy:_ ** _He’d have to catch me first._

 **_Henrik:_ ** _I’ve seen you run. I don’t think it would take him long._

 **_Daisy:_ ** _Ouch, is this roast Daisy day or something?_

 **_Henrik_ ** **_:_ ** _Well, you did teach me that Sundays in England are for roast dinners._

 **_Daisy:_ ** _Sometimes I really hate you, you know that?_

 **_Henrik:_ ** _Älskar dig, my dear Daisy._

A playful roll of the eyes, and she closed out of the group chat before she could see whether Chelsea would reply to their playful banter. Before she went back into the dining room, there was one other person she needed to talk to, someone who could say one word and it would give her the strength not to be the hen, but to be a fox, equal in power to Bobby.

 **_twilightapologist:_ ** _Fox is DOING MY HEAD IN. Need one of your stupid jokes to get me through this._

After a few minutes, her phone buzzed, and a small smile came to her face.

 **_hurricanetortilla:_ ** _why don’t ants get sick?_

 **_twilightapologist:_ ** _I don’t know, why don’t ants get sick?_

 **_hurricanetortilla:_ ** _bc they have anty-bodies_

Daisy let out a laugh, before quickly covering her mouth just in case anyone was lurking outside. She’d definitely been in there longer than was necessary, and Bobby was definitely going to make a remark, but she’d needed that quick boost from her friends to get her through the rest of the dinner. To get her through the smug smiles and the sucking up and the knowledge that Bobby might be a douchebag, but he was a douchebag with his own bakery, and she was nowhere near his level.

God, she hated him.

 **_twilightapologist:_ ** _10/10 terrible joke. Made me rethink our entire friendship._

 **_hurricanetortilla:_ ** _that was the plan_ _😊_

Her fingers typed out a ‘Seriously, thank you, I needed that’, but Daisy quickly erased the message before she could accidentally send it. She wasn’t in the business of being all soppy at that moment, and certainly not with that particular friend of hers. _Those_ feelings could wait for another time, one where she wasn’t about to be confronted with jokes about her bathroom habits or her Nan’s disapproving stare at the knowledge she’d spent so long away from the table because she was on her phone.

After shoving her phone in her pocket with a smile on her face, she stood in front of the mirror and examined her reflection. Her cheeks were still red with annoyance, but there was a little something more to it too that she chose to ignore. At least she was less red and blotchy than she had been when she’d walked in.

Daisy took a moment to smooth her dark curls and make sure her mascara hadn’t smudged, before she stepped out onto the landing once more.


End file.
